


Those that Fade

by maliwanhellfire



Series: Skyhold [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief, Highschool AU, M/M, Minor Character Death, nascent relationship, thoughts of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4340525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maliwanhellfire/pseuds/maliwanhellfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He looked down at his phone again, scrolling through the last messages Felix had shared with him. They’d been about the virtues of sesame butter, and how Dorian couldn’t find it in Ferelden. Felix had offered to send him some, as soon as he got out of hospital again. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Dorian is sitting in first period History when he learns that Felix has died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Distant Shore

**Author's Note:**

> This story includes grief and some suicidal ideation. Take care if this might be upsetting to you.

His hands shook as he lit his cigarette. It always hurt a little, channelling mana into his index finger, but it looked cool and he didn’t have to carry a lighter with him. Dorian breathed in, feeling the smoke in his lungs and that sweet, first burst of nicotine.

“Fuck,” Dorian said. “Andraste, fuck this.”

He looked down at his phone again, scrolling through the last messages Felix had shared with him. They’d been about the virtues of sesame butter, and how Dorian couldn’t find it in Ferelden. Felix had offered to send him some, as soon as he got out of hospital.

But Felix never left. He’d suffered a stroke, and then he’d died. Dorian had found out through social fucking media. Felix’s profile was already covered in trite memorial messages from people who’d never even bothered to visit him after he got sick. Not that Dorian had been able, either. No matter how he'd wanted to.

Now Dorian was never going to see Felix again.

He took another drag from the cig. Inhaled, exhaled, and then again. He looked at the bright red cherry at the end of it, and contemplated putting it out on his own arm. Dorian wasn’t sure he’d even feel it. It was like every part of him that could was somewhere else, up above him, tugging on the tether between spirit and heart.

Dorian thought about texting Felix, sending a message down a dead line and hoping he might read it, hoping that maybe everyone was wrong and Felix was fine and Dorian was dreaming. Maybe he’d send him a nug gif, he’d always liked those.

He leaned against the brick wall of the gym and looked out over the student carpark. He was missing second period Orlesian, hot on the heels of walking out on first period History. He thought about going back, but it wasn’t as if he particularly liked the material or wanted to be with the people he was learning it with. Nobody liked ‘Vints in Ferelden; nobody liked Dorian in Ferelden.

Nobody liked Dorian in Tevinter either, now that Felix was gone. Without him, Dorian didn’t have  _any_  friends. That… hurt more than he’d expected it to.

He felt the sting of heat against his fingers and realized he’d smoked his cigarette down to the quick. He stubbed it out under his heel, then pulled out a fresh one. He lit it with his finger again, breathing in so the flame caught.

“Smoking out behind the bleachers?”

Dorian flinched, a full body movement that sent a small pulse of adrenaline through him. Bull was right beside him, so good at sneaking in spite of his size that it was like he came out of thin air. He was always catching Dorian unawares, ruffling his feathers before strutting off.

“That’s naughty,” Bull continued, smiling with all his bright, white teeth.

Normally Dorian would say something pithy, or try to. He never knew quite what to do with Bull. Didn’t know if he was being friendly or setting Dorian up for a fall.

The silence stretched out too long. Dorian took another puff of his cigarette, and blew the smoke out in a delicate plume. He contemplated a smoke ring but his throat felt too sore.

“Hey,” Bull said, waving his hand in front of Dorian’s eyes. “Earth to Dorian.”

Dorian thought about putting his new cigarette out on Bull’s arm instead of his own. Thought about the beat-down he could get and how much it would hurt. He shivered again, confused, and displeased at himself for considering it.

“Dorian?” Bull asked.

“Can we do… whatever this is, another day?” Dorian said.

His voice was thick, and he felt a sharp pang of anger at how his eyes were becoming damp. He’d gone out behind the school so no one would see him and Bull was fucking that right up. Bull would probably tell everyone that the stuck-up Tevinter cast-off had been crying over Vivienne’s brand new Dracolisk Neo. Be one more thing for Dorian to pretend he didn’t hear during lunchtime.

Bull’s hand closed around Dorian’s shoulder, and Dorian shrugged it off. His skin felt so tight that it hurt to be touched.

“Hey,” Bull said softly. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

Dorian gave him an incredulous look, taking him in properly for the first time. He looked annoyingly good, even with his face lined with concern. Bull was soft around the edges, gently padded over all his muscle, in a manner that always looked inviting. He was also wearing his sports jacket, the one that stretched tight over his shoulders and gave Dorian feelings.

“Why would that matter?” Dorian asked.

Bull’s mouth opened, expression falling into something worse than concern. Bull's lips worked, but they didn’t decide on any one sound before closing again. Dorian looked at his cigarette and watched it slowly burn down.

“You’re about to burn your fingers,” Bull said quietly.

“Seems that way,” Dorian replied.

Bull took his hand and Dorian huffed at him, lip curled in annoyance. Dorian dropped the cigarette when Bull quietly straightened out his fingers. The butt landed right next to the first one.

Bull didn’t let his hand go, but he kept his grip loose.

“Dorian, is there someone I can call? Any family, friends?”

Bull’s voice was so gentle. Dorian had never heard him sound like that before. Hadn’t had anyone talk gently with him since he’d… Since he’d spoken to…

“Felix died yesterday,” Dorian said, as if Bull would know him. “Now I don’t have anybody.”

Dorian closed his eyes and felt two fat tears slide down his cheeks. He breathed in, juddering.

“I’m a popular man, as you can see,” Dorian added.

Dorian looked at Bull again, resigned to his own appearance, knowing his eyeliner must’ve been running. Bull looked stricken, like his own body was hurting in sympathy. Dorian fumbled for cigarette number three.

“I’m sorry,” Bull said, eyeing the cig with something a little too worrisome to be disapproval.

“He had the Blight. We all knew it was coming,” Dorian replied.

He had known. He’d known for years, and still the only thing Dorian wanted to do was walk to the nearest highway and step into traffic.

Dorian let the flame stay a little longer on his finger than he had before. He waved it off after the skin turned red and hot. Bull took the cigarette right out of his mouth.

“Would you stop that?” Bull asked, annoyance breaking through in his voice.

Dorian looked at him with all the disdain he could muster, and pulled another cigarette from the packet. He still had ten or so left. His downstairs neighbour bought them for him and he only charged a five dollar commission. Dorian never ran dry.

Bull took his hands again, curved his own palms over Dorian’s so he couldn’t light the next cig. Dorian saw his hands shaking, and then saw that the rest of him was shaking too.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Dorian said, curling in on his own shame, on the regret he already felt for showing Bull so much weakness.

Bull tugged him gently into his arms. He put one hand over Dorian’s hair, and the other on his back, grip so careful. Dorian pressed his hands flat on Bull’s chest and rested his eyes over them so he wouldn’t get makeup on Bull’s shirt.

He wanted Felix, he wanted the room he’d spent his childhood in. He wanted things that didn’t exist anymore, Felix dead and every trace of Dorian no doubt gone from his parent’s house. Everything he’d ever counted on was void, and he was empty. He wasn’t even a person, he couldn’t be. He was the shape left behind after Dorian Pavus was carved out.

He felt a puff of warm air against his forehead, felt it again, rhythmic.

“Shhh, shhh,” Bull said. “I’m here, I’m here.”

Dorian curled his fingers against Bull’s chest, and breathed.

 

\---

 

He let Bull jolly him into the passenger seat of his car, a fairly old Charger covered in bumper stickers. It was one of the editions that had been made with Kossith builds in mind, but Bull’s horns were still so large that he had to hunch in his seat a little.

“I always wanted to see you in my car, you know,” Bull said, voice mild.

Dorian snorted.

“I did, now’s not the time though…” Bull added, starting the engine. “Where do you live?”

“In Haven,” Dorian replied.

Bull turned, and Dorian could see him suppress all the questions he wanted to ask. Dorian wasn’t surprised. Everyone seemed to think he lived in Southron on the hill, which he didn’t dissuade them from. In truth he only travelled that way because it had the nearest bus.

Dorian wondered if he could get his neighbour to buy him beer. He wanted to get trashed.

“You live with anybody?” Bull asked.

Dorian shook his head, looking out the window at the street blurring by. His advocate had offered him a placement with a family when he first made it across the border, but Dorian hadn’t accepted it. They were Sopporati, and Dorian had strong doubts that his bright-eyed social worker had realized just how much they’d hate living with an Altus, after escaping a country full of them and their ilk. Well, him and his ilk.

The streets got a little less well-tended as they approached Haven, sidewalks full of cracks and the asphalt pocked sparsely with potholes. Haven itself was just a cul de sac, but it was lined with bleak, brick buildings set aside for refugees from all over. It had been a fairly modern housing development when it was first made, but that was twenty years past.

“Thanks,” Dorian said. “You can drop me off here.”

“Which one is yours?” Bull asked, slowing down but not stopping the car.

“One at the end, if you must know,” Dorian replied.

“You got visitor parking?”

Dorian furrowed his brows and looked at Bull.

“Street parking it is,” Bull said.

“You’re assuming you’re coming in.”

Bull sighed loudly. He shifted in his seat a little, and stretched his neck as much as he was able to while still in the car. He put his blinker on and slid into a free space in front of Dorian’s building. It looked old and sad, but the yard was clear, and over in one corner there was a small community garden. Dorian had contributed some elfroot to it.

“I think if I leave you alone, I’ll regret it,” Bull said.

Dorian rubbed his hand over his face and then popped the car door open. He slid out, pulling his bag with him, pausing on the concrete path. Bull locked the car, walking around it quickly like he was worried Dorian would bolt. They made their way up the steps in silence, though Dorian could almost hear Bull’s thoughts ticking away behind his serious face. Dorian led him to the second floor, which smelled like rising damp, up to his apartment. He turned his key in the lock.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Dorian said dryly, opening the door.

He waved Bull inside.

 


	2. Those isles that wait

Dorian’s apartment was near-immaculate, that was the first thing Bull noticed. His books were arranged neatly on a small shelf, his shoes lined up by the door (Bull caught a glimpse of skin between his shirt and jeans, when Dorian bent over to untie his boots and put them in an empty space). Dorian lived in a studio, kitchenette in one corner, his bed made tidily in another. There was one plate on the drying rack by the sink, along with a knife, but everything else was put away. The only other furniture that Dorian had was a small table, and two chairs. The presence of a second seat seemed uncharacteristically optimistic of him.

 

Bull looked back to Dorian, only to find that the other boy was already staring at him. Dorian raised his brows, still managing to look challenging, even though he was as dead-eyed as he’d been the entire drive over.

 

“See anything you like?” Dorian asked, voice dulled.

 

Even in the sickly, yellow light of his one ceiling fixture, Dorian looked beautiful. He always held himself as if someone might take his picture at any time. His legs were long and lean in skin-tight jeans, his torso usually hidden behind cropped jackets and vintage shirts. Thrifted, Bull now realized, carefully curated so his appearance looked like that of an affected, rich youth, and not someone with little money to spare.

 

Bull knew better than to tell him yes.

 

“Should I take my shoes off?” Bull asked, deflecting.

 

“If you would, please.”

 

Dorian was already turning away from him, heading into his kitchen and searching through the cabinets while Bull toed off his shoes. He nudged them into the corner, trying to line them up enough that they were tidy, but without looking like he was trying too hard. Not that it would’ve mattered, because Dorian found what he was looking for just as Bull was done.

 

“There you are, you harlot,” He said fondly. “I knew I had something hiding about the place.”

 

He was holding a half-full bottle of vodka, and to Bull’s surprise it was actually a fairly nice one. Dorian took a belt straight from the bottle, closing his eyes as he pulled away. His lips were a little damp from the spirit, his makeup smudged while his beauty mark stood out in stark relief on his skin. The vodka didn’t make him cough.

 

“How’d you get a hold of that?” Bull asked.

 

Dorian opened his eyes again. He did not offer Bull a drink.

 

“I may have crashed a party on the hill a time or two,” He said. “I must’ve wandered off with this after one them.”

 

It felt like half a lie, but Bull didn’t want to push. Instead he took a seat at the table, and marvelled at how the chair didn’t groan under his weight. Dorian sat down next to him, hand on his bottle, leaning back in his chair. Still posing without apparent thought.

 

“You should eat something,” Bull said.

 

Dorian took another drink, his head tilted back so Bull could see his laryngeal prominence bob. His neck drew a delicate line down to his chest, as finely made as the rest of him. He was so much smaller than Bull, but before he’d never looked it.

 

Dorian was right there in front of him, laying waste to all of Bull’s idle fantasies about being a bit of rough to a proud Tevinter, giving it to him so good that no ‘Vint would ever compare. Those thoughts felt obscene now, broken by the assumptions that had driven them. Bull couldn’t help wanting to make it up to him, even though Dorian didn’t know exactly how Bull had desired him.

 

“I’m going to make you a sandwich,” Bull said, standing.

 

“Please don’t,” Dorian said quietly.

 

“I can do something else,” Bull said.

 

Dorian ducked his head but Bull could see his eyes shining. He finally released his grip on the vodka bottle to cover his eyes with his hand. Dorian’s breath hitched, and it cut Bull down as viciously as it had the first time he’d heard it.

 

He sat down again. He pulled his chair in close so they were side by side, and then Bull put his arm around Dorian. Dorian made a soft, pained sound under his breath, palm still hiding his face. His thin body was shaking, and Bull thought he could see the last of Dorian’s wilful composure falling apart. It made Bull want to run, and stay, and hand the moment off to someone better equipped to deal with it, someone who wouldn’t wound Dorian any worse. Bull didn’t know if it was trust, but Dorian had let him in and Bull could hurt him so easily, so badly.

 

“I want him back,” Dorian said, sentence curling into a sob.

 

“I’m sorry, Dorian,” Bull said.

 

Finally, Dorian turned into him again, like he had at school, but this time he put his hands on Bull’s shoulders, and held on to him. Bull knew there’d be tearstains blackened with kohl, but he almost wanted them there. Wanted some evidence that he’d been present and had done _something_.

 

Bull didn’t even know who Felix was, lover or friend, how they’d met and where he’d died. He thought that it might be better if he knew. There was too much missing in his understanding of Dorian’s life, with all its hidden loneliness.

 

“Who was he?” Bull asked, wincing as Dorian cried out, pained.

 

 _Fuck it._ He thought, and pulled Dorian into his lap, his body light and unresisting. He tucked Dorian’s head against his own body, and sighed in relief when the other boy held on tighter. Bull held him in close, ran his fingers through the back of Dorian’s hair, where it was bristly and soft. Dorian cried for a long time.

 

 

\---

 

 

Later, when his tears had dried, Bull poured Dorian a glass of water, and he wrapped him up in his jacket. It dwarfed him, but it was warm and comfortable, and nothing else in Dorian’s room was. Dorian grimaced when Bull sat back down, eyes drawn to the two black circles he’d left on Bull’s shirt.

 

“Oh, that is ghastly,” Dorian said, his usual hint of deprication sounding more like self-loathing.

 

“They’re ten bucks a pack at the mall,” Bull replied. “I… Go through a lot of them.”

 

He had an active life, things happened, shirts tore.

 

“I suppose I owe you one,” Dorian said softly.

 

He was already drawing away, shoulders coming up, defensive. He reminded Bull of a hurt cat. Needy, but ready to claw at the first sign of further pain.

 

“Nah, this one was on its last legs anyway,” Bull lied. “Doing me a favour really.”

 

“Hm,” Dorian replied, obviously not buying it, but not challenging it either.

 

“Are you… Do you want to talk about it?” Bull asked.

 

Dorian’s face crumpled, hand going up to his mouth again, and Bull wanted to kick himself for turning the knife a second time. But Dorian’s features smoothed a little, and then he was nodding, and Bull thought maybe he’d been right to ask.

 

“Felix was, shit, _was_ , my friend. My only friend in Tevinter.”

 

There was a subtle, almost seamless, pause after the word ‘friend’.

 

“He got sick before I left, but he still helped me, when I was trying to get out. Kept in contact after, even though we had to be careful about it. Used to send me care packages,” Dorian added, taking a deep breath, as if to calm his nerves. “He was so kind, and thoughtful. He’s the best person I’ve ever met.”

 

It wasn’t hard to see the spaces around Dorian’s words; the darker thoughts he wasn’t voicing. Bull had put the vodka away, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave Dorian alone, maybe not for a long while. His Tama was going to be pissed.

 

“Where are your parents?” Bull asked, stepping out onto the mine knowingly.

 

_Why aren’t they here?_

 

Dorian snorted, and it was an ugly sound.

 

“In Tevinter, no doubt testing if they can make a few spare offspring in the time they have left, since their first attempt failed,” He said.

 

Bull inhaled, holding on to his next question. Dorian rolled his eyes at him, and it was the first reassuring action Dorian had made since he’d found him behind the school gym.

 

“You can get away with almost anything in Tevinter,” Dorian said. “But you can’t be an invert openly.”

 

“Oh,” Bull replied.

 

In hindsight it was obvious. Dorian made no secret of it at school, and everyone knew ‘Vints were uptight about sex, and very serious about family. It had never occurred to Bull that they might throw one of their precious children away, even over something like that.

 

“They made you leave?” Bull asked.

 

“You think Ferelden would’ve let me in here if they just kicked me out?” Dorian said, waving his hand at his room. “They were going to…”

 

Dorian’s voice broke, and Bull realized just what had happened, what a mage would have to live through to get asylum.

 

“I’m sorry,” Bull said, the sentiment feeling more stale each time he expressed it.

 

Bull thought about why he was in Ferelden, and felt a flicker of shame. One far more familiar to him than it had any right to be.

 

“I had to sell my birthright to get here,” Dorian said, and Bull nodded like he knew what that was. “I don’t have any right to my name anymore, but I don’t want to give it up. It’s always been mine.”

 

Truthfully, Bull couldn’t relate. Names had always been mercurial, shifting things for him. They changed as people changed, always reflecting present form. Ownership was a concept made for humans and dwarves.

 

But it was Dorian’s life, lived in its own culture, and Bull didn’t need to stretch to see how cruel it had been.

 

He suppressed a thought about the Saarebas.

 

“Are you going to tell anyone?” Dorian asked softly, looking down at the table, away from Bull.

 

“I…” Bull faltered for a moment, under the weight of what he knew.

 

“What do you want, to keep quiet about it?” Dorian asked.

 

“I won’t tell anybody,” Bull said, knowing that it was a lie, that while he’d never betray Dorian to anyone they both knew, he would almost certainly tell his Tama.

 

“What do you want?” Dorian said more firmly.

 

Bull could see the fierceness coming back in Dorian’s eyes, the sharp edge in him that Bull had once mistaken for meanness when really it was a well-honed instinct for survival. Bull thought it was a question Dorian had asked before, and followed through. Dorian would suffer whatever Bull asked of him, and that was enough to turn his heart to ashes.

 

“I want not to hurt you,” Bull said, putting his hands on Dorian’s shoulders. “I just, I don’t want to hurt you, anymore.”

 

Dorian blinked up at him, his eyes pale silver and green, a colour Bull had never seen before. He tensed when Bull touched him, but then he leaned into it, like he had every other time Bull had touched him gently. Dorian opened his mouth a little, as if to speak, but the words took a moment to come.

 

“You think highly of yourself,” Dorian replied, a little haltingly.

 

“Well, yeah,” Bull replied.

 

Dorian laughed, a short bark that shocked himself so much he actually flinched. The surprised smile on his face lingered a little, tempered by his near-constant wariness. Bull ached to see it.

 

“It’s kind of late,” Bull said. “Can I crash on your floor?”

 

It was that or sleep in the hall, because Bull wasn’t going anywhere.

 

“My bed’s a double, you know,” Dorian replied. “You’d fit in it.”

 

Bull opened his mouth to object, ready to politely inform another human that his dimensions ruled out most mainstream furniture. But then he actually looked at the bed, which was very long and very sturdy, just like the chairs, and the table once he looked at it properly.

 

Everything Dorian owned had once belonged to a Kossith, almost certainly a Tal Vashoth. Bull suppressed the question, having pushed too much for one evening.

 

“If you don’t mind sharing, sure,” Bull said.

 

“I’d offer to lend you something but, well,” Dorian gestured first at Bull and then himself.

 

“I’ll manage, thanks,” Bull replied.

 

Dorian was almost shy after that, changing in his small, en suite bathroom after taking a shower that made Bull think of what Dorian might look like wet. That particular image was shortly followed by a mental recitation of the central tenets of the Qun, and a sharp reminder to himself that sometimes you hear hoof beats and there actually is a zebra. He was going to sleep with someone he hadn’t had sex with, and he wasn’t going to make it weird. He took off his jeans and folded them once the shower stopped, and then he sat on the bed and waited for the other boy to finish his nightly routine.

 

Dorian walked out of the bathroom in a puff of steam. His hair, normally held up by some kind of pomade, was freshly blow-dried and fluffy. Without his makeup he looked younger, even cute. His skinny body tapered from nice, wide shoulders down to a trim waist and slim hips. He had the sort of build men envied, or would do, once he filled out. Bull clung to the thought that one day maybe Dorian would want to kiss him.

 

“Do you want to borrow my toothbrush?” Dorian asked, voice soft and unsure.

 

“Thanks, I’ll keep though,” Bull replied.

 

The moment dragged, Bull increasingly aware that they were both standing around in tshirts and boxers, and Dorian seemingly quite aware too. Bull rubbed a hand behind his head and Dorian laughed quietly.

 

“I’m not used to this,” Dorian said. “Sharing space.”

 

“We’re a little old for sleepovers.”

 

Dorian’s coy expression told Bull exactly what he thought of that sentiment.

 

“Just get in the bed,” Bull said, rolling his eyes.

 

That exchange seemed to break the tension, and they silently picked a side and slid in under the covers. Dorian flicked the lights off from a switch above his bed, and settled back down, tucked in close to the wall, while Bull took up most of the available space. Bull knew humans couldn’t see too well in poor light, but the same couldn’t be said for him. He saw Dorian’s face contort into something troubled, his hand pressing down on his own chest, over his heart.

 

Bull brushed a thumb over Dorian’s brow, and Dorian startled. Bull muttered a low _sorry_ and drew his hand away.

 

“You ok?” He asked.

 

“I miss Felix,” Dorian replied.

 

“He must’ve been really special,” Bull said, turning so he was on his side, facing the other boy.

 

“He was, I was so lucky to have met him.”

 

“Lucky he had you too, huh?” Bull said.

 

Dorian stilled beside him, the gentle cadence of his breath hushed. Bull let himself feel a spark of anger at himself, for not seeing Dorian before. For falling for the gloss and acid that hid everything underneath.

 

“It’s true you know,” Bull said. “He was lucky to have you.”

 

Dorian curled into him, hiding his head beneath Bull’s chin. Bull wriggled around until he had an arm under him, letting his hand rest on Dorian’s side. It felt nice, even though he knew he was going to wake up with a dead arm.

 

“Goodnight, Bull,” Dorian said, relaxing against Bull’s soft bulk.

 

“Night, Dorian,” Bull replied.

 

He kissed the top of Dorian’s head, and shortly fell asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for saying "pharyngeal prominence" but you can't have Adam's Apples in cultures without christianity.   
> Anyway yes, this is part of a series of connected moments.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure of my characterization of Bull, but they're both a bit younger here and I am writing a fucking highschool AU, so...


End file.
